


I doubted if I should ever come back

by okaystop



Series: that has made all the difference [1]
Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, LA Era (Crooked Media RPF), M/M, The Multiverse is Real, White House, Woke Up Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaystop/pseuds/okaystop
Summary: "I'm going to take a quick shower," Tommy said, pushing away from the door and depositing one of the coffees on the nightstand beside Jon. "We have to be at the airport by ten, so don't get lost on Twitter or anything."Before Jon could really understand what was happening, Tommy had brushed his lips past Jon's mouth, stripped off his shirt, and disappeared into the bathroom with his own Dunkin. His head popped back out again and he grinned, flushed. "Of course, you're welcome to join me if you think you can be quick."Or, simply: Jon wakes up in another reality, married to Tommy.





	I doubted if I should ever come back

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for "woke up married" and alternate universe fics. This wouldn't get out of my head and suddenly I had 10K written. 
> 
>  
> 
> Per the usual, please keep this secret, keep it safe. Don't go showing it to anyone named or friends of the named, etc. 
> 
>  
> 
> Title is taken from Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken."

Jon woke up alone in bed, blinking blearily against the early morning Southern California sunlight slipping in through the blinds. He rolled over onto his back, stretched his arms up over his head with a groan of muted wakefulness, and then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. 

It was warm, and there was an indent on the pillow beside him as though someone else had slept with him. Leo, he guessed, even though he wanted to believe that he'd trained him not to sleep on the pillows but at the foot of the bed. Ah, well, it wasn't a big deal if his dog wanted to curl up with him. He was the only bed companion Jon had had for - longer than he cared to admit to or even think about.

He pushed himself up, sitting with his back against the headboard as the fogginess of a deep sleep fell away and the room came into focus. He scratched the back of his head as he reached over to the nightstand for his phone, flicking the charger away and unlocking it. He was greeted by a photo he didn't recognize, one of Leo and Lucca sprawled out in the grass. He chose not to think too much of it - it wasn't outlandish to think that Tommy or Lovett had swiped his phone and changed his background when he wasn't paying attention - and opened up Twitter. Jon had long since moved past being ashamed that Twitter was the last thing he saw before he went to bed and the first he saw when he woke up.

Before he could flick up to load the latest messages, he heard the door close downstairs and the barking of not one but two dogs, the clack of nails on the hardwood, then the stairs. A moment later, Leo and Lucca burst into the room and onto the bed. Jon let his phone fall to his lap and put his full attention on the dogs. 

"Hey Leo, hey buddy." He scratched him behind the ears and let Lucca lick up the side of his face. "Hey Lucca."

Tommy appeared in the doorway, red-faced and slightly sweaty from what Jon assumed was a run with the dogs, Dunkin cups in each hand. He leaned against the doorframe. "Morning," he said. "I thought I'd let you sleep a little longer after last night." He pushed off the wall to cross the space between the doorway and the bed.

Jon couldn't remember talking to Tommy the night before. He tangled his fingers against Leo's curls as he stretched out beside him, Lucca nosing his elbow too. Last night, Jon had stayed late at the office, sure, going over his outline for today's pod. He called Dan to go over the outline on his way home and then stopped at Chipotle for a burrito, which he ate on his couch muttering at CNN alone. He'd gotten into a Twitter fight - okay, a few Twitter fights - before falling asleep with the TV still on. He didn't really remember even making it up to his bedroom, but that wasn't too out of the ordinary. He'd certainly done it before.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," Tommy said, pushing away from the door and depositing one of the coffees on the nightstand beside Jon. "We have to be at the airport by ten, so don't get lost on Twitter or anything." 

Before Jon could really understand what was happening, Tommy had brushed his lips past Jon's mouth, stripped off his shirt, and disappeared into the bathroom with his own Dunkin. His head popped back out again and he grinned, flushed. "Of course, you're welcome to join me if you think you can be quick." The corners of his mouth twitched with laughter and then the door was (mostly) shut. Jon could hear the shower running.

Leo yipped sharply and Jon realized he had switched from scratching him lightly, familiarly, to digging his fingers into the dog's curls. "Sorry," Jon hissed, swearing as he hurried off the bed. He looked down at the two dogs, both of them looking back at him with slightly-concerned looks on their faces. 

He ignored them and went for the closet where he found his clothes organized as normal but only taking up half of the space. The other half - Jon recognized Tommy's favorite red sweatshirt and suit jacket. He ignored this too, couldn't think about what that meant. What anything that had happened in the last few minutes meant. He was dressed in jeans and an old Obama '08 t-shirt before it occurred to him that maybe he wasn't even actually awake.

Granted, it had been quite a while since he had a dream about him and Tommy. Also granted, none of those dreams had been this - domestic. No, those dreams would have started right there in the shower and ended with Jon waking up with tented boxers or - worse. 

Still, he pinched the inside of his elbow, as hard as possible, and it hurt like _hell_. He gave a yowl and then shook his head at himself. But if he wasn't dreaming, then he wasn't - 

He nearly tripped over Lucca, who was worriedly pawing at his leg, as he lunged for his phone where he'd left it buried under the covers on the bed. His bed. The one that Tommy slept in last night? With him? He coughed, cleared his throat, and unlocked the phone, skimming right past that unfamiliar background photo and landing on WhatsApp and a recent conversation with Lovett.

 _Did anything weird happen last night?_ he typed in quickly. _Weirder than normal, I mean. Or, better yet, WHAT happened last night._

It didn't take long for the words _Lovett is typing…_ to pop up. _how should I know what you were doing last night?_ Jon blinked and sat on the edge of the bed to watch as Lovett kept typing. _shouldn't you be on the way to the airport? you're gonna have to lyft to the WH because I'm not getting out of here any time soon._

He rubbed his forehead, hard between the eyes. _What are you talking about?_

 _shit, jon, if you have to ask me that after asking me what happened to you last night, then I think you're gonna have to take a long hard look at your drinking habits_  
_tell tommy he shouldn't take advantage of you like this_  
_see you in a few hours._

Jon stared at his phone. He had no idea what the fuck was going on.

Yesterday had been a normal Wednesday at the office. They did a Q&A livestream in the afternoon, Jon and Lovett, while Tommy finished an interview with a former foreign policy advisor from the Trump administration who resigned after a public shouting match with the Secretary of State. They answered some questions at the end about favorite vacation spots then went their separate ways. Jon had asked if Lovett or Tommy wanted to get a drink, but Tommy had a date and Lovett had a thing too, so Jon had just stayed late to finish his outline, get his burrito, and go home. It was a normal Wednesday. He expected today to be a normal Thursday.

And yet.

On impulse, he slid his thumb up to pull down the date. It's what he expected it to be, month, day, _year_. Of course it was. 

He pushed his hand back through his hair, tugged at it at the back of his head. He looked over to the (mostly) closed bathroom door. Behind it, the shower shut off. Jon looked over to where Lucca and Leo had settled down at the end of the bed. He looked back down to his phone and thumbed through the apps, noticing that Slack wasn't installed but Postmates was. His thumb hovered over the photos app, and his heart thudded over what he might find in there if he opened it up.

Jon glanced up without thinking when the bathroom door opened. Tommy stepped out, hair mussed and wet, with a bath towel slung low over his hips. "I, uh - good shower?" he asked, croaking, really.

"Yeah," Tommy said. He smiled. "Our Lyft'll be here in about an hour." He moved easily, comfortably, around the room, Jon's eyes following him. "I already took the bags downstairs, so we've just got to drop the pups off at Andy's and we can get out of here." He pulled a clean pair of TommyJohn's from the dresser drawer where Jon usually kept his extra phone chargers. 

Then Tommy dropped his towel and Jon gave a squeak, his phone slipping out of his hand. It hit the side of his foot, hard, right on the ankle bone. 

Tommy turned to him, concerned, hands at his hips where he'd tugged the boxer-briefs up over his pale ass. "Are you okay?"

"Dropped my phone," Jon said, grunting. "Sorry. I - I'm going to go - bowl of cereal -" He was struggling to say any words at all, struggling to not watch Tommy as he got dressed. He bent forward at the waist to pick his phone up from the floor then stood up so quickly that the air rushed around his head, made him momentarily dizzy. "I'll meet you downstairs." 

On his way out the door, he grabbed his keys and wallet and whatever else was in the little tray he kept at the corner of the dresser, shoving it all into his pocket. He ignored Tommy's concerned call of his name and hurried down the stairs.

 

It was very strange, Jon thought as he stood in the kitchen that was his kitchen but not _quite_ , how conditioned he was to how he lived, where the milk was inside of the fridge, which cereals he kept in the cupboard, that there was usually only one pair of sneakers next to the door instead of two. After fumbling for a moment with finding a bowl and spoon, Jon sat at on a stool at the breakfast bar with his cereal in front of him and the contents of his pocket and his phone laid out on the counter beside it.

He ate one-handed as he separated his watch from his wallet and his keys from his phone. A solid gold band clattered out from the keys and he picked it up. Felt its weight in his palm. Knew before he even set his spoon down and tried it, that the ring would slide easily over his knuckles and onto his ring finger. Once on, he rapped it against the table once, watched the light glint off of it, then went back to his cereal as though there was nothing out of the ordinary.

After his last bite of cereal, Jon sat back, phone in hand, and decided he needed to figure out what was going on. He opened his email first, noting immediately it was only linked to his gmail account, not his Crooked Media one. He frowned, looked for another email app but found nothing. No Slack either. He opened up his browser and typed in Crooked Media, but the only hits were years' old articles quoting Trump during the election. His heart raced, and he sat up a little straighter, feeling tension pull the muscles of his neck taut. He tried something else in Google, on instinct and with a tight punch of hope (or was it terror) in his gut. He typed in "U.S. President" and almost let out a sob as Hillary Clinton's photo appeared as the top hit.

"Hey, are you all right? The flight's going to be fine. Weather's clear from here to DC." He heard Tommy half a second before he felt him. Stepped up behind Jon, right into his personal space, large palm spread out against his back. Jon couldn't help but lean back into his warmth, the touch. "I thought we'd got past the time when you Googled that just to make sure it was real," Tommy joked. His hand slid up to the back of Jon's neck, fingers scraped his hairline before he cupped the side of his neck as if he did it all the time. Jon realized that he probably did.

Jon was surprised that his instinct wasn't to pull away but instead was to nuzzle into the touch. "Just -" He cleared his throat. "Hard to believe, you know."

"Tell me about it." Tommy stepped away and Jon immediately felt the loss, shivered. "Okay, can you take the dogs down the street? I want to finalize the details on this briefing and I probably need to shovel in some cereal - unless you finished off the Frosted Mini Wheats?"

Jon pocketed his phone, quickly, his wallet next, as he stood. "No, didn't eat it all. Sure, let me -" He side stepped around Tommy, unsure of their usual dance, feeling lightheaded and more out of place now after having seen, with his own eyes, that Hillary was President. "Leo, Lucca, let's go." He jingled their leashes and laughed at the sight of them bounding down the stairs. As he got the dogs clipped up and grabbed the already-packed bag laying on the floor by the couch, he watched Tommy in the kitchen.

This was unexpected. Jon couldn't make heads or tails of it, whether the last two years of his life had been some kind of waking nightmare or if this was the dream, an out of reach fantasy that, besides the change in Presidency, Jon didn't know he had. Or never wanted to admit he might have been willing to have. Either way, something was very wrong, and Jon didn't have any idea what to do about it.

"I'll be right back," he said, which prompted Tommy to look up from his phone with a smile that made Jon feel a little wobbly. He met the smile with one of his own, feeling some mix between silly and fond. He must have held it for a moment too long because Tommy's eyes crinkled, brow furrowed. "Right," Jon said. "Be right back."

 

 

Their plane touched down in Washington D.C. shortly before five. By 5:30 they were in a lyft into the city, Tommy sitting close to Jon in the back seat, their thighs pressed against each other's. His hand settled comfortably just above Jon's knee. Both of them were on their phones, though Jon suspected Tommy was doing work and not on a deep-dive into Googling alternate realities like he was. Not like Jon knew what Tommy's work was, if it wasn't Crooked Media. And Lovett was probably the person to ask about alternate realities, if Jon could figure out a way to bring it up that didn't get him locked up.

The bigger, more immediate problem, Jon realized as the car stopped in front of their hotel, is that he didn't actually know why they were in D.C. He was expecting to go into the office to record a Thursday pod with Dan, talk about the 2020 Democratic candidates, medicare for all, the latest scandal, the Mueller investigation, all these things that apparently didn't exist wherever Jon was right now. He wasn't up to speed with what did exist, really. If he hadn't taken his usual pre-flight pill before they got on the plane, he might have been able to spend the flight digging into his life here, with Tommy, in this world, instead of passing out and waking up while the plane was taxiing. 

Tommy climbed out first, hefted his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Hey I've got to take this call. I'll be right in." He was lifting his phone up to his ear before Jon could reply. 

Jon watched him for a moment, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the way his neck pulled as he talked animatedly on the phone. The striped shirt Tommy was wearing, the way his jeans stretched over his thighs, his ass. These things were all familiar to Jon, even if he'd never looked at him through the lens of - a boyfriend, husband. The late afternoon sunlight caught on Tommy's ring and Jon looked away, turned to head into the hotel lobby.

He checked in, shoved the two keycards into his pocket, then dropped onto one of the lobby couches to check his phone again. It was grounding, having his iPhone in hand, knowing that that, at least, was familiar. Twitter, checking email, a text from his brother with a photo of the dogs, another quick glance at the Google search for the U.S. President - he tried to focus on the things he did have, as opposed to what was missing. 

For one thing, he had Tommy in his life and, besides the casual touches of affection, besides the kiss this morning before Tommy showered, their relationship didn't feel too much different. If he didn't think about their matching wedding rings. Or how easy it was here, now as Tommy crossed the lobby to him, saying something that Jon wasn't paying attention to, to lift his face up and accept the kiss. This time, he let himself linger, Tommy's mouth wet and warm against his, his hand hot against his upper arm. But they were in the hotel lobby, and now wasn't the time for Jon to acquaint himself with what kissing Tommy was really like.

He stood, picked up his bag again. "We're in 1125," he said, gesturing toward the bank of elevators. 

"Good," Tommy said, "Lovett texted. He said we should just meet him at the White House. He wants you to go over edits with him before we do anything else tonight. I need to go see Ben about the trip to North Korea, so might as well do that at the same time."

Jon nodded a few times, taking in, processing all of this new information. He touched Tommy's arm once the elevator doors closed. "Tom," he said, his tone dropping. "Maybe - this is, like, the pill I took talking but - what edits am I helping Lovett with again?" He tried to keep his tone light, soft, even, as though the drugs hadn't worn off yet (even though they had). He even leaned heavily toward Tommy, trying to make his point.

"Jesus, Jon," Tommy said, lifting a hand to touch Jon's cheek, look at his eyes, presumably to see how drugged up he was. "Did you screw up the dosage again?" Jon shrugged unhelpfully and then laughed as he _actually_ stumbled out of the elevator into the dimly lit hotel hallway. "The Correspondents Dinner, Jon," Tommy offered, "the same speech you and Lovett have been working on for the last two weeks." Tommy didn't even ask for the hotel keycard, just shoved his hand right into Jon's pocket as though he'd know it would be there. Jon tried not to squirm; he wasn't successful.

"Right," Jon mumbled, letting that information slide into place along with everything else. That made sense - if he lived in a world where something like writing Presidential speeches was still a thing. Which, he supposed, he did - here. "Sorry, just got all jumbled in my head for a minute there." Had the White House Correspondents Dinner been on the outline for the pod? No, no, Lovett would have covered it on Lovett or Leave It, or they would have talked about it next week, especially if Trump hadn't shown up for the third year in the row (highly likely), but it hadn't been on his radar.

He unloaded his bag onto one of the chair by the window and fumbled with his phone again before turning back to Tommy, who was looking at him. "I'm fine," he said, trying to make light of it now that he'd fucked up by playing the 'too many pills' card. "Should probably change before we go to the White House though, right?"

Tommy held his gaze for a moment longer, his mouth pulled into a thin line. Jon knew that look, that Tommy had something else to say and was turning it around in his mind a few times before, ultimately, deciding not to say it at all. "Yeah, I don't know how much President Clinton would appreciate it if you turned up wearing your Obama shirt."

Jon looked down, having forgotten that was what he'd pulled on earlier in the day, and cracked a smile. "Right. Probably not a good idea." He rubbed the hem of the shirt between his fingers then turned back to his bag, unzipping it to find something more appropriate for the White House. He hadn't packed this - well, his alternate self had, but that wasn't something he could readily think about - so he didn't know what to expect.

Not Tommy's arm slipping around his waist, his chest pressed tightly up against his back. Not Tommy's hand slipping over his where it had stilled on the bag's zipper. Not his mouth and nose tucked into the side of Jon's neck. "I know you've been worried about this," he said, pressing a kiss to Jon's collarbone. "Getting back into the game after so many years away, but - when the President calls and asks a favor …"

Jon huffed with a little laughter. "More like when Lovett calls and asks a favor," he said, the words sliding off his tongue like they belonged here, in this universe, when the rest of him didn't. He turned his hand over to lace his fingers through Tommy's. 

"This is perfect for you both," Tommy said. "The timing, this year's message, all that shit that went down with FOX news." He pulled their joined hands up against Jon's stomach. "Honestly, I haven't seen you this excited about writing since you spent a week working on your wedding vows." His breath was hot against the side of Jon's neck, and Jon could feel his body tense up, not necessarily in the good way. It was a lot, Tommy wrapped around him like this, talking so casually about wedding vows that Jon wrote, for him, for _them_. "I take that back," Tommy said, disentangling them with a sigh. "You _agonized_ over the vows. Don't do that with this. Please."

In that moment, Jon wanted nothing more than to _know_ all of this. He suddenly has a vague idea of what he'd write in wedding vows for Tommy, but those thoughts are absent of romance, a relationship, this feeling he has deep in his stomach, shooting down into his thighs. That feeling is there, buried deep inside of him, and had been for years but this -

Jon turned and reached out for Tommy, a hand at his waist. "Tommy," he said, head tilted, a smile curling up from the side of his mouth. He leaned in for a kiss, taking now what he wanted more of downstairs in the lobby. Maybe this was the thousandth kiss that Tommy had shared with Jon, but it was more or less Jon's _first_. He felt it in his toes, his fingertips as they found Tommy's jaw and angled himself better against his mouth. In the way their lips fit together, Tommy's tongue stroking in with easy familiarity. Jon couldn't bite back his moan, stepped closer until Tommy's arms wrapped around him again. He fell in against Tommy, kissing him, desperately, like he was drowning.

Tommy's palm opened up against the back of Jon's next, in the same place it had been that morning, and Jon broke the kiss to nuzzle back into the touch, warring with himself over which he needed more. "As tempting as this is, babe," Tommy murmured, his lips pulling at the corner of Jon's mouth. "We don't have time."

Their foreheads met, and Jon nodded. "Right," he said, swallowing around everything else he could have said in that moment. "Later." If his tone was too-hopeful, Tommy didn't mention it. He just agreed.

 

 

At least being back in the west wing was familiar, or as familiar as it could still feel six years after the last time Jon spent any regular time there. He sat on the couch in Lovett's office - that news had shocked Jon, that Lovett was back at the White House, heading up President Clinton's speechwriting team - watching Lovett, bent over his desk, pen scratching on the most recent draft of the Correspondents Dinner speech. He'd been in the office for at least an hour now, most of which time he'd spent greeting people who popped their head in, fiddling with his White House visitor pass, or watching Lovett edit. He didn't mind, really, considering he had no idea what he was really going to be able to offer by way of writing help besides correcting grammatical errors or serving as a human thesaurus. 

If he were writing a Correspondents Dinner speech (not for Trump or his cronies, of course) in his own timeline, he thought, he'd have a myriad of things to say. Not-so-subtle jabs at Trump's dumpster fire of an administration and his distrust of the mainstream media. Every problem he had with FOX news and the right-wing media. Hell, if he were working on that, there was no way it would be even remotely funny. Not that he'd have touched anything to do with that administration with a ten - twenty - fifty foot pole. 

Here, everything felt just so much less tense, even with Lovett's stress radiating off of him with every flick of his pen. It was something in the air, something different, a Washington unpolluted with corruption and lies and collusion and Russia and every other horrible word that could be used to describe how far American democracy had fallen.

"Jon," Lovett said, sharply, out of nowhere. 

Jon looked over at him. "What?"

"I just said your name three times. You're not the one buried in a sea of potentially horrible fox puns right now. What could possibly be more important than pulling your weight around here for five minutes."

He blinked, rubbed his thumb along the inseam of his pants. "Do you ever think about what would have happened," he said quickly, all in one breath, "if Trump had been elected?"

Lovett set his pen down slowly and turned his whole body toward Jon. "What the fuck are you talking about, Jon? He _was_. Did - Tommy said you were acting weird. Are you okay? Are you high right now? In the White House?"

The breath left Jon's chest, and the crushing weight of the mistake he just made pressed him back against the couch. "I just mean - if - what - if things had - everything -" Really, he didn't know what he meant other than exactly what he asked. It felt like there was some piece of this universe-sized puzzle that he was missing, that he was trying to fit the wrong piece into an oddly-shaped hole.

"Jon."

He couldn't look at Lovett. His fingers itched to pull out his phone, Google what he'd gotten wrong, but he left it in his pocket. His ring felt tight and heavy on his finger, and he rubbed it against the side of his leg as if it would help. 

After a moment, Lovett stood up quietly, crossed to the door, shut and locked it. He sunk down on the couch beside Jon, tie loose and askew, popping his leg under himself. Besides the tie, it was the way Lovett would sit beside Jon every day in the Crooked Media offices. But this was the White House, not West Hollywood. 

"Jon," he said again, in an odd, urgent tone. "What's going on? Did you hit your head somewhere? Fall down the stairs?" It might have been the start of a joke if Lovett didn't sound so concerned.

There were any number of answers Jon could give right now, including just brushing it off with a laugh and saying he was just trying to lighten the mood. Though he knew, instinctively, that Lovett wasn't going to let this go. Whatever was wrong with what Jon had said - and he couldn't answer that question on his own without looking at his phone again - was _really_ wrong. So wrong that Lovett was currently looking at him as though he might need to call 911 at any moment.

Jon looked back down at his lap, twisted his ring around until it was above his knuckle, pushed it back down again. He rubbed at the corner of his guest pass and took a deep breath. Then he did what any sensible person put into an unfamiliar and uncomfortable situation with no idea what was happening around him would do: he told the truth.

"I think I woke up this morning in an alternate dimension."

Jon knew Lovett really well. They'd been friends for a decade, worked together as long, were business partners for the last three years, hell, Jon had moved out to Los Angeles because Jon did it first. Frankly, he was floored by the fact that Lovett didn't immediately laugh in his face and quote some science-fiction movie or comic book at Jon's confession.

"Oh, is that it," Lovett said, leaning back and pushing a hand through the messy curls at his ears. 

Jon opened his mouth then closed it again, looking at Lovett. "Uh -"

Then, after a moment that stretched between the two of them a moment too long, Lovett cracked a smile, laughing with his whole body. "Fuck, Jon, if you wanted to cut through all this stress tension, you could have done it some other way. An alternate dimension, yeah, okay Captain Kirk. That's a good one." He clapped a hand down on Jon's shoulder and stood up, still laughing as he shook his head. "Honestly, Jon." He sat back down and picked up the pen again. "I get it, right, let's finish this up and go get something to drink. God knows we all need something strong if you're over there trying to lighten the mood with bad sci-fi plot lines."

Well, that made the most sense out of anything in this universe, Jon thought as he struggled to get out a bark of laughter that instead came out something like a sob.

Lovett looked up again, slightly panicked. "Wait - are you being serious?"

The only thing he could to was nod, palm pressed against his cheekbone. There was no way in hell he was going to cry on the couch in Lovett's office in the west wing like it was three in the morning the day of the State of the Union and nothing was written yet.

Jon felt the couch sink again as Lovett sat back down beside him, a hand, hesitant, on his shoulder. "All right, okay, I don't know why you're telling me this, now, instead of talking to, oh, I don't know, anyone else like your _husband_ , but I'll -"

"You're the science-fiction guy," Jon said, his voice tight. "If anyone knows what I'm supposed to do in this situation, it's gonna be you, right?"

"Right," Lovett echoed. They both looked over at the desk where the latest draft was still inked up and Jon hadn't even looked at it yet. "Right, so … let's start with this. Why do you think you're in a alternate dimension?"

A sigh escaped first, and Jon tried to relax but he was wound up so tightly that it was next to impossible. "Oh, that's - there's a long list, really. Everything - is wrong, here."

Lovett seemed to be turning something over in his mind, the look on his face, as he worried his lower lip, familiar. "This morning," he said. "You texted me and asked me what happened last night. Why don't - what do _you_ remember happening last night, Jon? What was your yesterday like?"

He nodded a few times, drummed his fingers against his knee. "I - I went to work, and we did a livestream Q&A, you and me, and then I asked if you or Tommy wanted to get a drink but you had a thing and Tommy had a - a date -" He stumbled over that, tightened his left hand into a fist until he could feel the warm metal of his ring against his palm. "So I stayed late to work on the outline for the Thursday pod, talked on the phone with Dan. I got a burrito for dinner." It was all so mundane, he thought, as he said it all out loud. A typical Wednesday. "I watched CNN for a while, took Leo on a walk, then fell asleep watching something stupid on TV, alone, on the couch." He breathed out again. "That's what happened yesterday."

A long moment passed - some people walked by outside of the office talking loudly enough that Jon could make out most of their words - before Lovett said, "So it was less alternate dimension and more like time travel? Still 2016, before the election, and we were doing Keepin' It 1600?"

Jon shook his head. "No, the date's right. The year's right too. We stopped working with the Ringer after the election. I'm talking about Pod Save America."

Lovett smiled. "That's a good pun."

Jon gave him a look.

He held up a hand. "Sorry. Look, Jon, I know you've been under a lot of stress lately, you and Tommy both. Shit, so have I. I never thought I'd be back here in the White House like this. But that's just - Tommy said he thought you took too high a dose before you got on the plane. I'm sure that's what this is." Jon wasn't sure if he had ever heard Lovett talk like this, scarily calm, trying to talk Jon down from whatever ledge he thought he was hanging onto. 

"No, it's not -" Jon didn't know how much more he could argue without coming across as completely off the rails. "Before," he hurried on, "when I asked what you thought it would be like if Trump was elected -" Lovett looked at him blankly, and Jon grew more worried. "I mean - Trump _is_ the President. He was _yesterday_. Then he wasn't when I woke up - here - this morning. That's what - that's why - everything here is _wrong_."

"You think Trump as President is _right_?" Lovett asked, shifting away from Jon as though whatever Jon had might be contagious. 

"NO!" Jon stood up, pulled at his hair. "No, for fuck's sake - of _course_ not. I'm just saying that yesterday, I lived in a world where Donald Trump was President and today I woke up in a world where Hillary Clinton is."

Lovett blinked, rubbed at his eyes. "All right, so, then you're talking about December 2, 2016, the best day for the history of our democracy."

Jon had no idea what he was talking about, and he knew the expression on his face conveyed exactly that.

"The day the Supreme Court ruled that the election had been rigged, overly-influenced by Russia and the Trump campaign, and they decided in a 7-2 vote that the results were invalid and then in a surprise - shocking, really - turn of events, both the Senate and the House overwhelmingly voted to accept the winner of the popular vote and Hillary Clinton became the President-elect and a month later was sworn in as the first female President in United States history?" With every word, Lovett's tone became a little more frantic, no, excited, really, and his pitch went up until he finished off with a fist pump that told Jon he went on this rant often enough that it riled him up.

"Holy shit," Jon breathed out, eyes wide. "That's - incredible. I - it's okay, even - why didn't - fuck." It was more than okay. It was _perfect_. That would have been the happiest day of their lives. If it had actually happened. Which it didn't. He shook his head. "That's what I'm - saying," he tried to get out. "That didn't happen for me. None of that happened for me. I'm telling you, Lovett, I'm from a different dimension where Trump is still President and _none of that happened_."

"Whoa, Jon, hold on, relax, don't -"

He didn't realize that he had started to have trouble breathing until he saw the panicked look in Lovett's eye and felt his hand on his back, unsure as it rubbed in jerky circles. "Okay, I'm calling Tommy. You're having a panic attack, Jon and I don't know why but -" With his other hand, he was all thumbs over the screen of his iPhone before lifting it to his ear.

Jon wanted to say no, don't call Tommy. Don't call his best friend, who in this universe is his husband, because Jon didn't want - he didn't know what he didn't want, and he didn't know how to explain it, so he just kept his mouth shut and concentrated on trying to breathe. The air in the room rushed in around his ears and boxed him in. His chest was tight.

"Tommy's on his way," Lovett said, still rubbing Jon's back awkwardly. "He'll be here as soon as he can."

 

Jon had stopped panicking fifteen minutes ago, but he didn't necessarily let on that that was the case, mostly because it was simpler to use the panic attack as a crutch. If he zeroed in on it, used it, then Lovett wouldn't keep looking at him like he was going crazy. Or - like he didn't know him at all. He was just having a panic attack. Nothing crazy or weird about that. A lot of people had panic attacks. 

A hard, rapid knock on the door startled Jon, and he sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the couch as Lovett hurried to unlock and open the door.

"Jon." Tommy looked like he'd run all the here from the EEOB, which he probably had, if that's where he was. Jon realized he didn't know where Tommy had been, and that was something he should have known. He knelt down in front of Jon, taking both of his hands in his. Jon couldn't help but tense a little, almost jerk his hands away. He let Tommy touch him like that though, because he needed to not let on that something with _them_ was wrong. "Hey, look at me. Is this about yesterday? We don't - it's okay if you're having second thoughts. It's a big decision. I can call the agency and say we need more time."

Jon had no idea what he was talking about. Sure, that was the theme of the day, but he also couldn't hide his confusion anymore, as exhausted as he was. He looked at Lovett for help and was met with a strange expression, like Lovett was watching a movie and trying to guess at the ending.

He didn't say anything, but he did pull away when Tommy reached up to palm his jaw. Stuttered to his feet and away from the couch, hands deep in his pockets. "I'm fine," Jon managed to get out. He couldn't look at either of them. 

Tommy reached out for him again, his hand brushing against Jon's hip, and he stepped away again, out of reach.

Behind him, Lovett let out a shaky breath and Tommy said his name, worried.

"Jon said he thinks he woke up this morning in another dimension," Lovett blurted out, cutting through the tension Jon felt from having made it clear he didn't want Tommy - his husband - touching him.

Jon swore, sagging his shoulder.

"What?" Tommy asked, incredulous. "That's - ridiculous." But there was something in the way he trailed off that struck Jon as odd. Just a tingling at the back of his neck, really, nothing -

Jon managed some kind of harsh laugh, even though it wasn't funny. He had no idea how he'd be reacting if roles were reversed.

"Jon," Tommy said again. Jon had never heard his name said like that before, and it tugged on his stomach, viced at his heart. "What's - this about?"

He turned around, looked between Lovett, who was leaning heavily against his desk, and Tommy, who was sitting on the floor, side pressed against the couch, their attention on him. He spread his arms, palms up, and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, because he didn't know what else to say.

Jon took their silence as a cue to continue, and he went through everything he'd already told Lovett. About what yesterday was like, about the election and how it definitely didn't end up at all how Lovett had described, about his life in LA, though he glossed over a lot of the details. Like the fact that he and Tommy weren't married, though by saying he'd been home alone, well, that was probably inferred. He spoke as quickly and as calmly as he could, wringing his hands together, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the wedding band. "I - sorry, I'm sorry. I know this isn't, like, believable or anything. It's crazy, I know, and I wish it was just a bit, I wish I was joking, but - this is - I'm not," he finished up helplessly.

Tommy let out some kind of sound, a keening, as he brought his knees up to his chest and dropped his face into his hands. Jon couldn't look at him, dragged his focus to Lovett, who was white as a sheet and staring at Jon. Jon knew, as well as he knew that he was telling the truth, that Lovett _believed him_. "You believe me, Jon, don't you?" he asked quietly. "Why?"

Lovett swallowed and looked away for a moment. "There are more things off about you than are right," he said simply. "And you're - I mean, Jon's - not good enough of an actor to pull something like this off."

"I'm still me, still Jon."

Lovett shrugged, and Jon didn't know what that meant. He didn't want to ask.

Jon held his breath for a moment, the back of his mouth dry. "Tommy?" 

"Yeah," Tommy said, emotionless. "Yeah, I - should have realized."

"Should have realized what?" Jon's heart pounded, and he felt the blood drain from his face as Tommy lifted his head to look at him, expression blank.

"That you're not my husband."

It felt like he was getting punched in the gut. No, he wasn't Tommy's husband, that was true, but that didn't mean - hearing it said out loud like that was terrifying, overwhelming. Of course it was true. Of course that would be Tommy's immediate reaction. Of course - why the hell did it hurt so badly, make him feel for too long of a moment that he was suffocating. "Tom," he whispered, his own voice sounding far away.

Tommy unfolded himself as he stands up, his fingers pushing back through his hair, mussing it up more than taming it. He brushed himself off, straightened the wrinkles in his button-up, across his thighs. "I'll make a few calls, figure out how we can get this fixed."

Lovett gasped. "Wait, is this a thing? Alternate realities? Is that something covered in your State department training guide?

"I've been briefed," Tommy said off-handedly. He was pointedly not looking at Jon. "But I've never asked questions about it. A lot of things are briefed - as _hypotheticals_ , Lovett!" He said before Lovett could interrupt again. "But yeah, it's - a thing."

Jon swore under his breath again and tripped backwards until he could use the wall to hold himself up. He wasn't sure where to look. Tommy looked at once heartbroken and also put completely back together, ever ready with that look of passivity that he knew came in handy in the sit room or somewhere else. Lovett looked incomprehensible, like he couldn't believe anything that was happening, anything that he was hearing. He tried to look, slightly fondly, over at Lovett. 

"Oh don't mind me," Lovett said, his voice a weird pitch, "I'm just going to be over here having an existential crisis about the reality of the multiverse instead of, oh I don't know, writing a speech for the fucking President of the United States."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "It shouldn't ever _matter_ ," he said crisply, "that it exists."

"It matters now," Jon offered quietly. He lifted his gaze and looked at Tommy, caught his eye, chewed on his lower lip. 

"Yeah." Tommy blinked, the corners of his eyes crinkling, then cleared his throat. "I'm going to make some calls. Just - don't go anywhere. And get that speech done, Lovett. It's still your job - here."

"You're not my boss," Lovett called out at Tommy's back as he left without another look at Jon, even as Jon, strained, said his name again. 

He turned and looked at Lovett. "Give me something to do," he said suddenly. "I can edit. I can - whatever. I might not know the references or be able to give you any content, but I can - I need to be useful. Please."

Lovett looked at his desk, then back up at Jon, nodding. "Yeah, okay. Pull up a chair. I'll give you a crash course in current U.S. affairs, and we can get this done. Then we're drinking. Fuck, I need a drink. You do too, don't even try and argue with me about that Favreau."

Jon didn't.

 

 

"If there's one thing I can count on in any universe," Jon said, pressing his finger against the condensation along his pint of beer, "is that Miller Lite is objectively awful." He picked up the pint and hit it against Lovett's, then Tommy's, then swallowed a quarter of it down quickly, without tasting any of it.

"That's depressing," Tommy muttered.

"And untrue," Lovett argued. "Miller Lite is the _only_ good beer."

Jon shared a look with Tommy, and for a split second, everything felt normal. But then the bridge of Tommy's nose flushed and he looked away, focused on drinking his own beer. Jon could tell that Tommy was uncomfortable, has been since he left Lovett's office in the west wing. He wanted to be touching Jon. Jon realized he wanted Tommy to be touching him. Their friendship had always been one of casual touching, an arm slung over shoulders, a nudge, legs pressed together when they sat on the same side of the booth. That was all normal. This wasn't normal even for a Jon Favreau who wasn't married to Tommy Vietor.

Lovett coughed, dramatically, drawing attention back to him. "So what's the story, Vietor," he said. "What's this multiverse all about and how to we send Favs back to whence he came?"

Tommy set his pint down heavily. "Well, the problem is," he started out slowly, as though turning through his mind what he could comfortably say out loud and what was actually classified. Though Jon thought that he ought to get a pass with the classified stuff, considering he was living it out. "We can confirm that the multiverse exists, but there's never been any substantial experimentation when it comes to movement between. As far as we know - the U.S. government knows, I mean - it's never happened before." His gaze settled back on Jon, heavily.

Lovett actually clapped Jon on the back. "Look at you, Favs, breaking barriers, going down in history as the first -"

"Shut up, Lovett," Jon muttered, but it was mostly just in embarrassment, not with any real anger behind it.

"I'm just saying, this could be your greatest legacy, the memoir you'll get to write about living in an alternate reality. No one's going to _believe_ you, of course, but I think you can pull it off."

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "There's a lot you're not saying, Tommy," he said after a long moment. "No one knows how to send me back, right? This is just a glitch and maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and be back there, maybe next week, a year from now. But maybe - maybe it's never. That's what you're not saying."

Lovett breathed out once, a quiet curse, then tossed his head back to chug the rest of his beer.

Jon raised his gaze to Tommy's. He was looking at him, his face a contorted mixture of horror and concern, looking at this man who was his husband but also wasn't at all. Like he didn't know what emotion he was supposed to be having. Fuck, Jon didn't know what emotion he was supposed to be having either. 

"Right," Tommy said. "That's what I'm - not saying." His hand stretched out, just a little fingers curling toward Jon's knee, his arm, but he pulled back before they get there. He stood up a little straighter, his grip on his pint tightening. "There are still a few people I can talk to, but it looks like there are only going to be more questions, not answers." He took a deep breath. "And more than likely, no concrete way to ensure you get back."

Jon looked down into his beer, the din of conversation around him settling in under the sound of his own breathing. Then he turned and motioned for the bartender to order double shots for each of them. He needed it.

 

Jon sat on the edge of the King-sized bed in the hotel room he and Tommy had checked into earlier that day and palmed his knees. Tommy was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, and Jon had already fumbled through changing into something to sleep in. Neither of them had talking about the elephant in the room. The elephant being the King-sized bed that Jon was currently sitting on.

He was feeling fine, and by that, he was feeling not drunk but slightly buzzed, the good, light feeling in his head and limbs that made words come out easier and thoughts harder to untangle. Tommy had drunk even less than he had. Yet Jon sat there like he was going to explode with anticipation of whatever was going to happen once Tommy came out of the bathroom.

It was hard for Jon to turn off the workings of his mind, no matter what reality he found himself in. But it was doubly - triply - so here, mostly because of his relationship with Tommy. It wasn't - he knew he loved Tommy. He was his best friend. They'd known each other for years, more than a decade. They'd lived together in Chicago, traveled together while they worked in the White House, saw each other through relationships and break-ups, founded two companies together … what was different here, he thought, that made that love -

Tommy walked out of the bathroom, hair damp, face flushed. He wore a soft Red Sox t-shirt and his feet were bare. Jon looked at him.

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable here," Tommy said, reaching for the two of the pillows and the bed's duvet. "I can sleep on the floor."

"What? No, I can - I don't want you sleeping on the floor," Jon said quickly. "The bed is huge. It's not a problem." Truly, it wasn't. Jon understood that he wanted to sleep with Tommy, even if all they did was sleep. But if they did something other than sleep, that would be okay too. He knew that wasn't fair to Tommy, to his other self, though, even if the thought of what they could be doing (more of what they were doing before they went to the White House, and then some) made Jon's stomach clench and dick twitch.

"Jon -"

He shook his head. "I know I'm not - your husband," he said quietly. "But we're still friends, right? We've shared a bed before, slept on each other in the back of buses. It's fine. Don't hurt your back on the floor. Please."

Tommy nodded and returned the pillows to where he took them from. He moved around the room tensely, digging through his suitcase for socks, plugging his phone in and then swiping through it while standing there. He seemed to look everywhere but at Jon. 

Eventually, Jon reached a hand out, his fingers brushing Tommy's elbow. "Hey," he said, his voice low.

Tommy stepped away and Jon let his hand fall back into his lap. "Hmn?"

"I'm sorry that I -"

"Don't apologize," Tommy said suddenly, looking at Jon _finally_. "It's not your fault. It's - I don't know whose fault it is. But it's not yours. You don't need to keep apologizing."

Jon rubbed at his jaw. He hadn't shaved that day. "I feel like I have to. You're acting like you can't even stand to look at me. Which - I get. I'm not him. I know that. I have no idea what all happened to get you and him together." He found himself rubbing at the wedding band again. "I never even imagined that it was a possibility."

The spot between Tommy's eyes was creased, furrowed as he frowned a little. "Never?" The word was barely audible, raspy with surprise. "Wow, Jon, this has to be - I'm sorry I've been touching you. I'm sorry we kissed. I didn't realize - I mean, I should have realized. I've been kissing him for years and earlier today felt like the first time all over again but I didn't - I never meant to make you uncomfortable or force something on you."

"No!" Jon got up, shaking his head. "I mean, it was the first time," he clarified. "For me. I just - I never thought I'd be _allowed_ to -" The words caught in his throat, and he swallowed to make room. "That you'd want to."

Tommy's shoulders relaxed, but only slightly. His mouth nearly twisted into a smile. "You know, that's exactly what he said to me the first time, too. Word for word."

Jon let out a breath. He turned over what he wanted to ask a few times in his mind, decided against it, then decided for it. "Will you - tell me how it happened?" he asked quietly.

A startled look passed across Tommy's face but he nodded. He gestured for Jon to sit back down, and Tommy did too, on the chair by the desk, out of arm's reach. "I'm not sure I understand all the differences," Tommy said, sitting straight and slightly tense, his ankle crossed over his thigh. "It's just - I guess I don't really understand how it _didn't_ happen."

He wasn't really answering the question, but Jon didn't want to push. If this was weird and incredible and unbelievable for him, he knew it must feel similar for Tommy. In his mind, Jon went back through as many interactions he had with Tommy as he could. Impossible, considering the amount of time they spent together. Never once did he think they were anything but best friends, could be anything but friends. It wasn't until here, now, with Jon knowing what Tommy's touch felt like, how it mouth felt gliding against Jon's, that it really sunk in that it was something to consider. Now, he couldn't stop looking at Tommy's hands, his mouth, the muscles in his thighs, the way he held himself, shoulders back, the hair at the back of his neck, his cheekbones, jawline.

"I don't think my Tommy - the Tommy in my world - is into me," Jon blurted out.

Tommy's face softened, his eyes widening. He struggled, Jon could tell, with his words. "Jon," he said, urgently, voice tight. He leaned forward. "I cannot fathom a world in which I - Tommy Vietor - am not head over heels in love with you - Jon Favreau."

It felt like all of the air was sucked out of the room, the way Jon felt in that moment. 

"Maybe - fuck, I don't know. Maybe there was never the right time in your universe. Or maybe you're - maybe you don't feel the same way and I - he - picked up on that. I don't know, maybe it just wasn't something I - he - wanted to pursue, but I wouldn't be able to tell you _why_. Are you - with someone else, Jon?" The last question came out in a rush of breath, and Jon almost missed it.

He shook his head. "Not for a few years, not since -" He didn't say her name. "It's been a while." Sure, he'd been dating. They have _both_ been dating. Tommy had a date last night.

Tommy was looking at him with a curious expression on his face. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "After we left the White House," Tommy said. "You took that fellowship in Chicago and I stayed back in D.C. I visited you out there and we - I don't know. I guess I just thought that the time was right, what have I got to lose? We - we stayed there for about a year and a half before Lovett bugged us enough to move to L.A."

"When did -?" He couldn't say it, just motioned to the ring.

"Spring of 2016, just as the primaries were getting heated. You said - he said - what better way to get our mind off all the unpredictable outcomes of this clusterfuck than to get hitched? So - we did."

Jon licked his lip, looked at Tommy until Tommy, cheeks pink, looked away.

What was the splinter point? Jon wanted to know what the difference once, what made this Tommy, here, fall in love and take that chance, and the Tommy in Jon's own universe not. He didn't know if it was possible, to ever know.

Tommy held his phone out to Jon and shrugged. "You can look at some pictures, if you want. I'm sure you have some on your phone too." He cleared his throat and stood up. "Hey, sorry, look - I need to take a walk, get some air. I won't be gone long." He hurried to get his shoes on then left, leaving his phone with Jon.

He didn't move until the door closed, his thumb heavy against the screen of Tommy's phone. Part of him ached to scroll through the photos, see their relationship grow, their wedding photos, the casual shots Jon knew Tommy had captured. Another part of him didn't want to know so much detail about the differences, because eventually Jon assumed he was going to be able to get back, and what good would it do to have all that knowledge, see all that evidence, of something that hadn't happened. And a third part of him was scared that he'd hate what he saw and it would ruin his friendship with his own Tommy. He decided not to give in to temptation, choosing instead to return Tommy's phone to its charger, do the same with his, and crawl into bed. 

Maybe this was a one-day occurrence. Maybe he'd wake up in the morning, back in L.A., having missed a pod, but back to the life that he knew.

 

Jon held his arms at his sides as Dr. Mourehouser checked his heartbeat and lungs. He kept his eyes trained on the wall across from him rather than on Tommy, who was pacing like a caged rat and answering the questions the doctor asked before Jon could.

"Have you noticed anything different about Jon since this morning? Physically, I mean," the doctor asked, looking at Tommy. "Dr. Weston will cover the psychological and memory differences once I'm done here." 

"Uh -" Tommy stopped pacing and instead circled Jon, who was standing there in just his boxers, feeling more self-conscious than he'd care to admit. Not like Tommy hadn't seen him this undressed before. Or that a doctor hadn't. It just felt like he was being put on display. Which he was, really, here in a government hospital to try and suss out if anything was different about him, anything that could be considered crucial in the understanding of the multiverse. Maybe more important, if anything could be used to send him back home. "There's more gray hair at the temples, along the hairline there."

"Blame Trump for that," Jon muttered, but the doctor either didn't hear him or chose not to react. Tommy, however, raised an eyebrow and almost chuckled. Almost.

"He - Jon, my Jon - has a scar here," he said, fingers brushing very quickly against Jon's back, under his left shoulder blade, near the crease at his armpit. "Scuba diving on our honeymoon," he continued, the explanation for Jon, not the doctor. He walked around Jon until he was facing him, frowning. "I assume you don't have any tattoos?"

Jon blinked. "Tattoos? No - why, do I have one - does he have one?"

Tommy nodded but didn't offer up anything more about that. He shrugged at Dr. Mourehouser. "Otherwise, they look pretty identical. I didn't notice - nothing stood out, I mean."

The doctor was taking notes quietly, a hum here or there but didn't respond right away. He cleared his throat. "It's very interesting because I suppose I would have expected - if the occurrence of the multiverse is something to expect, that is - that it would have been the mind and not the body that would have been transferred, but that isn't the case here." He sighed and set his notepad aside. "I'd like to draw some blood, compare it with what we have on file from you during your last physical, if that's all right."

Jon nodded. "Of course, that's fine."

The doctor set a hand on his shoulder. "Go ahead and get dressed. Dr. Weston can do your psych eval and then I'll send a nurse in for the blood sample.. Good luck." He offered his hand, which Jon shook and Tommy shook, and then he left.

Jon started to shake out his clothes and get dressed. He looked at Tommy, a little sheepishly. "A tattoo, huh? Where?"

Tommy just shook his head. "Just a - on his hip," he answered, "low. I have one too. It's not - makes sense that you wouldn't have gotten it." A moment passed and he reached out to slide his fingers into Jon's hairline. "Is it really so bad that you've gone gray?" he asked.

Jon leaned into the touch, smiling sheepishly. "It's pretty bad, yeah," he said. He started to give Tommy some of the highlights, the travel ban, healthcare, Paul Ryan, the Kavanagh. "But we took back the House at the midterms, and Pelosi is speaker, and it's - better. Working towards 2020 already. It's a very large field."

Tommy shook his head. "Shit. I can't - we all went to worst case scenario after the election results came in, but Congress got their shit together and - fuck."

"I know."

The next knock at the door was the psychologist, Dr. Weston, and she led Jon and Tommy down the hall to a lightly-furnished room, more dimly lit than the bright lighting in the exam room. "I think we'll be more comfortable in here," she said, gesturing for Jon to take a seat.

Tommy lingered by the door. Jon let his fingers brush Tommy's elbow. "You can stay," he said. "I want you to stay." Tommy nodded and sat on a chair, not sharing the couch with Jon. 

The doctor watched the exchange as she sat, scribbled a few notes and then turned her attention to Jon. "So you're from another reality," she said, her voice even. 

Jon nodded. "Yes, that's - yes. I'm not sure there's much of an explanation though."

"I'm sure there isn't," she said. She glanced at Tommy. "And Mr. Vietor is your - ?"

"Husband," Tommy supplied, a little miserably. "At least, in this reality."

"And in yours, Jon?"

Jon managed not to look at Tommy, didn't want to see how upset he likely looked. "My - best friend and business partner."

"Business partner? What kind of business?"

Jon cleared his throat. "We own a liberal media company and produce and host podcasts." Those few words certainly didn't really encapsulate everything that Crooked Media did, but he didn't know how to explain it without going into detail about everything that happened over the last two years. 

"And here?"

Jon shrugged a little. "I don't know, but -"

"Political consulting," Tommy answered. "Mostly speechwriting, but he recently worked with several prominent Democrats on their midterm campaigns."

"And you're with the State department, Mr. Vietor?"

He nodded. "That's right. I - yes."

Jon looked at him, sensing there was more to it than that, a more specific job that Tommy for some reason didn't want to say out loud. 

"Have either of you had any kind of experience - dreams, premonitions, that sort of things - with the possibility of alternate realities before?" They both shook their heads.

"Have - you?" Jon asked after a moment.

She smiled, ducked her head. "No, I can't say that I have. This is, frankly, fascinating."

"Is there anything specific you're looking for?" 

She shook her head. "No, not really. My official job is to evaluate your mental state, which I can do while asking questions that, perhaps a little, satisfy my own curiosity about the situation."

Jon could appreciate that. If he wasn't right in the middle of this situation, if he wasn't "patient zero" as it were, he'd want to know more himself. "All right. I - what else?"

"Are you in a relationship in your reality?"

Jon shook his head. "No, not currently."

"And how would you identify your sexuality?"

Jon blinked, swallowed back the immediate answer. Because even though he had never had to think about it before, since waking up married to Tommy, he wasn't so sure. Well, he was. He knew - he just - 

"Jon?" 

He looked at her, cheeks warm. "Uh - straight," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm - yeah." Beside him, Tommy didn't make a sound, and Jon still couldn't look at him.

"All right. Besides your relationship with Mr. Vietor and your occupation, what else stands out to you as major differences between this world and yours?"

Jon couldn't help but laugh, rubbing his cheeks and sitting back. He apologized quickly. "That's - a lot," he said, then got into it, comfortable now talking about American politics - his America, the other one - considering it did it every day, in his reality.

 

 

"I think we both need to be prepared for the possibility that you're not going back," Tommy said, Monday afternoon, after they'd made it back to their house in Los Angeles. Tommy was diligently unpacking their suitcases.

Their weekend in D.C. had been a mix of comfortable and not. Lovett had actually snapped at them - more than once - to at least pretend to like each other, and Jon had realized he and Tommy were both trying too hard in public to appear normal that it had the opposite effect. Jon told Tommy multiple times that it was okay to act like nothing was wrong, but Tommy refused to give in. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable," he said, several times, and no matter how Jon argued, it didn't change his mind.

Jon sat on the edge of the bed and scratched Leo behind his ears. "Yeah," he said. "I know." 

He'd spent most of the plane ride thinking on that topic, which helped keep his mind off the whole flying thing. Sure, besides some dreams and maybe a fantasy or two over the years, the idea of Jon and Tommy, together, hadn't been a part of Jon's reality. He dated women. That was - fine. He hadn't been lying when he told the psychologist that he was straight. He knew that was true. But if the last four days had done anything, they had opened his eyes to the fact that this was something - Tommy was someone - he wanted. He knew that was what that feeling was, deep in his stomach, tight in his thighs. 

He looked up when he realized Tommy was still talking. "I can move into the guest bedroom for the time being. No use disrupting financials just yet to find a second place. And we'll have to tell a few other people, people who can get you up to speed quickly on everything you've been doing. I don't want - I'd rather not take any steps toward divorce, which I know isn't fair to you, but on the small chance that he might come back - we can work on an open relationship. I don't want you to feel like you have to be celibate -"

"What?" Jon snapped, mouth open as he watching Tommy talk and unpack, doing everything he could not to look at Jon. "Tommy -"

But he kept going. "It might take me a while to get used to the idea, and I don't want you to worry about me. I went years around you without having you. I can do it again."

It might almost be impressive, Jon thought, how Tommy was able to talk about all of this, sounding so detached, separating himself from himself. But Jon knew better, knew Tommy better. "Tom," he said, louder. "I don't want an open relationship. I don't want a divorce. I don't want you to move into the guest room."

Finally, Tommy looked at him. "Jon," he said, choked, a warning, a plea. 

"I know I'm not him and maybe I'm being selfish or unfair to you or to him but I'm - still him, in some way. And I think - no, I'd know - that he'd - that I want you to be happy and that I - maybe we have to start off slow or, I don't know, date again or something but that's - I want this life with you - here - if you'll let me try." 

Tommy stared at him.

"I've discovered all these ways you look at me, and I can tell when you're holding back. I know you. You're my best friend, there, here, anywhere. I'm just - it's incredible to me that I never knew I could have more than that. If I can - here - if you're willing -" His hands, his fingers had curled against the edge of the bed. His entire body was tense. He knew that if Tommy said no, he'd be okay. He could shake himself clear of these feelings, find someway to go back to the not knowing. Even if he couldn't go back to his life, in this reality. This wasn't a horrible place to end up, not really.

"Jon, are you sure?" Tommy sounded far away, voice hoarse.

Jon nodded. "Yeah, I am." He reached out for Tommy. "Please."

Tommy moved into his space in an instant. Jon's hand curled over Tommy's hip, and he tilted his head up, always having to look up to Tommy, a little. "Jon," he said again. He exposed his throat, widened his legs so Tommy could step in between his thighs. 

When Tommy bent down to kiss him, Jon caught his fingers up along the back of his neck. Jon wasn't hesitant with this kiss, wanted to know what this was like, determined to give kissing Tommy - in their bedroom, in this home, in this reality - his full and undivided attention. It felt - good. It felt real, natural, as easy and as simple as breathing. He had no idea how he had ever lived without this, before, without Tommy's mouth, wet and hot, opening against his.

Tommy's hands found comfortable places on Jon, one flattened against his hip, holding him steady, the other against the side of his neck, fingers pressed into Jon's jaw. A hold, a touch, that Jon leaned into. He tried to deepen the kiss, wanted to taste every corner of Tommy in the kiss, but Tommy kept it slow, an exploratory kiss, one for early in the relationship and Jon knew that was as much for Tommy as it was for him. 

With a groan, Tommy pulled back, leaned his forehead against Jon's. He swallowed, nodded, his fingers drifting around to the back of Jon's neck tenderly. The touch made Jon shudder. "Okay," he said. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Jon nodded, breathed Tommy in. For the first time, he let himself think that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he stayed here. Maybe, he thought, as his mouth sought out Tommy's again, he would stay here for a while longer. Maybe he wasn't going anywhere either.


End file.
